The End
by emmasi
Summary: Set during "The End" s5. If you haven't seen this episode, stop reading now. The year is 2014 and the world has quite literally gone to Hell. This fic explores how Dean became "broken," how Cas became a "hippie," and how Sam became... well... Lucifer.
1. Chapter 1

**This Is The End, Beautiful Friend**

Dean sat at the scarred wooden table, cleaning off the demon-killing blade. The weak, caged light overhead gave the ancient metal a jaundiced, used-up look that reflected the overall tone of the cabin. The piece of cloth he used to wipe it with was infused with too much grime to show up the pale pinkish-brown traces of blood that overlaid the older stains.

There was a knock at the door. Dean looked up to see Castiel peering in at him through the wire mesh that guarded the glass. Dean returned his attention to the knife.

"What?" he called, disinterested.

"Dean, it's me. Cas."

Dean sighed. "I'm busy, Cas." He kept cleaning.

Castiel stood outside in the dark, debating whether or not to walk away. He decided not to.

"Dean, I want to talk to you." He took a deep breath, urging himself on. "About Lucifer."

Dean gave a slow shake of his head. He wrapped the knife in the cloth and placed it on the table. He stood up, screeching his chair against the dusty floorboards, and went to the door. He opened it.

Castiel looked the same as he always did: dirty, dazed, and disheveled.

Dean looked down on him. "Well?"

Castiel ignored Dean's impatient tone and posture. "May I come in?" he asked cordially.

Dean rolled his eyes and unbarred the doorway. He returned to his chair at the table, returned to cleaning his knife.

Castiel let himself in and closed the door behind him. He walked over to where Dean was sitting and stood, inspecting the knife from a safe distance. It looked clean, brightly polished by Dean's rough hands, but there were still a few stubborn deposits of dirt refusing to be lifted out of the engraving.

"Demon blood," Castiel observed. "That stuff's a bitch."

"Did you have something useful to tell me," Dean snapped, "or are you just here to look at shiny things?" He twisted the blade around in the light to illustrate its luminosity, hoping to dazzle Cas' perpetually stoned mind.

Castiel stared at the knife, dutifully taken in by the movement, but it had nothing to do with it being shiny. It had everything to do with it being a sharp, jagged, instrument of sadistic death.

"Dean," said Cas through a traumatized trance, "what you did to that demon…"

Dean shrugged. "I've done worse."

"No," Castiel said, watching Dean's hand gliding over the blade again and again, pinching the cloth tighter against his palm in an effort to force the fibers deeper. "Not since you were in Hell."

"Take a look around, Cas!" Dean shouted at him. "The demons brought Hell to us! It's about time we started playing by their rules."

He held the cloth tighter, moved his hand faster and with more force. The blade broke through the cloth and cut across his lifeline.

"Ah, _damn_ it!"

He dropped the knife on the table and bent over his palm to inspect the long thin stream of red.

Castiel took an instinctive step towards him.

"Here, let me -"

Dean sprang up, knocking over his chair. He grabbed the knife with his bleeding hand and held it up to Cas' throat. Cas leaned back and put his hands up.

"I just wanted to -"

"Yeah," Dean pre-empted him, "I know what you wanted. But you can't kiss my boo-boos better for me anymore, Cas. You don't have the wings for it."

Castiel narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

Dean watched him closely for a moment, then decided that Cas wasn't worth the trouble. He turned back to the table, put the knife down, and picked up the torn, blood-spattered rag. He pressed it to his cut, heedless of contamination.

"You know what I want, Cas?" he said tiredly, not looking back. "I want you to stay the hell away from me when you're ripped off your ass. That's what I want."

"Well," said Cas, relaxing enough to smile, "then you'd never see me."

"Fine by me."

Castiel watched over Dean's shoulder as Dean's blood spread and mingled with that of the demon he'd killed. Dean had tortured it relentlessly for days, and it had finally broken down and told Dean everything he wanted to know. Castiel had watched the interrogation off and on, alternately sickened and hardened by the process. He'd seen Dean work over demons before - had asked him to, in fact - but this last one… Alastair had gotten off lightly in comparison.

Maybe Cas was just more sensitive to violence these days, having wandered idly down the path of peace and love and calming herbs. Maybe he was just disturbed that Dean had fallen back on old habits so easily.

"I know why you're hunting Lucifer so hard, Dean," he said to Dean's back.

"Uh, so I can kill the son of a bitch?"

"No. So that he can kill you."

Dean glared at him briefly before returning to his cut. It stung, but it was shallow. With the excess blood wiped away, it was already starting to close.

"You know you can't beat him," Cas said.

"I won't know that until I try," Dean answered. "Do you remember _trying_, Cas?"

"Yes," Cas nodded solemnly. "I remember."

Cas had tried to help Dean. He had tried to give him what he wanted. He had tried to do what he thought was right. And all of it had backfired. All of it.

"Get out of here, Cas," Dean sighed.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Dean rounded on him, forcing him back into the wall. Dean pinned Castiel by the throat, just short of choking him with his forearm.

"Then why don't I _make_ you go?" Dean growled.

Castiel stared into Dean's eyes, defiant. Dean stared back, not wanting to be the first to back down, but of course he was. He wasn't going to kill Cas, even after everything Cas had done, and the bastard knew it. Dean shook his head at him and let him go.

Castiel took a shuddering breath of air into his smoke-damaged lungs. He doubled over and coughed. Dean had no sympathy for him.

"You know you're going to get us all killed?" Cas demanded.

"Oh, you're doing a fine job of killing yourself. A few more months, and you might just be human enough to OD."

"But I don't have a few more months," Cas glared, "do I?"

"You know, you don't have to come. You can stay here with your drugs and your skanks and your broken dreams of the 'glory-be-to-God' days."

"I am not going to let you die alone," Castiel promised.

"I won't be alone."

Castiel immediately grasped Dean's misguided meaning. He let out a long, hard sigh.

"Sam's gone, Dean."

Dean turned on him again, pointing and scowling.

"Don't you say that to me," Dean threatened. "Don't you even say his name. I know damn well that my brother is gone, and I know why."

Cas closed his eyes. "How many times can I say I'm sorry?"

"Don't bother. I don't want to hear it."

Dean turned his back on Cas again, placing his palms flat on the table. He ignored the flare of pain across his right lifeline. He needed to occupy his hands before they found their way to Cas' neck.

"I am sorry, Dean. More than you will ever believe."

"I don't care, Cas. Be sorry. Don't be sorry. Come with me and die. Stay behind and live. I honestly don't care."

Dean noticed the overturned chair on the floor. He righted it and sat back down at the table. He picked up the knife and the cloth and resumed cleaning the blade more carefully.

"You're closing in on Lucifer, aren't you?" Cas asked.

He had not been there to witness the ultimate demise of Dean's latest victim. The graphic foreplay had been enough to make him bail out a few hours before the climax. But of course Dean had gotten what he wanted. The demon would not have been shown the mercy of death if he hadn't.

"The demons are getting chatty," Cas surmised.

"Yeah." Dean made a slow, thoughtful sweep of the blade. "Funny how that happens."

Cas nodded. "How long do we have left?" he asked calmly. "Weeks?"

"More like days. Two or three, tops."

Cas nodded again. "Two or three days left to live," he translated. "I should organize an orgy. You want in?"

"No, Cas." Dean might have laughed if he could've been bothered, or if he thought Cas was joking.

"What about something more personal?" Cas offered. "Private," he added coyly, "for old time's sake?"

"Cas," Dean groaned, "I couldn't get it up for you if I tried."

"There's a pill for that," Cas said. "There's a pill for everything."

"Is there a pill for self-respect?" Dean asked pointedly.

"Temporarily," Cas shrugged off the insult, "yeah, sure."

Dean slammed Castiel up against the wall again, but this time, Cas was facing it. Cas' face twisted in pain and ecstasy as Dean slammed into him again, and again.

Castiel clawed at the log-cabin wall, moaning and sighing, eyes shut against all unwanted stimuli.

Dean stayed silent behind him; expressionless, mechanical. He kept his eyes half-open, watching Cas writhe and shudder beneath him like a dying animal.


	2. Chapter 2

**This Is The End, My Only Friend, The End**

Castiel tipped a handful of pills out onto his tongue. He raked them to the back of his throat, downing them in a harsh dry-swallow.

Dean watched him apprehensively. The theory was that Dean should not come to any harm during his brief stay in this nightmare vision of the future - it was possible that none of this was real, anyway, and that Zachariah was just messing with him to get him to say yes to becoming Michael's vessel - but Dean didn't want to test that theory.

Castiel was driving, which was disturbing enough in itself. Dean wondered how long the angel had been without his wings, and how much experience he had in compensating for it. He doubted that popping pills - and taking his eyes off the road to do it - would help Cas' road skills.

Dean put a hand out for the pills.

"Let me see those."

Cas offered him the bottle without hesitation. "Ya want some?"

Dean took it from him and read the label. Cas cleared his throat absently.

"Amphetamines?" Dean asked.

"It's the perfect antidote to that absinth," Cas said.

Dean shrugged with quiet surprise and handed the pill bottle back to him.

"Don't get me wrong, Cas, I'm happy that the stick is out of your ass, but what's going on with the drugs and the orgies and the love-guru crap?"

Cas laughed to think that Dean didn't already know.

"What's so funny?"

Cas shook his head, unbelievably amused. "Dean," he said, "I'm not an angel anymore."

Dean gaped at him. "_What_?"

"Yeah," Cas elaborated, "I went mortal."

Dean stared at him, alarmed. "What do you mean? _How_?"

Castiel gazed thoughtfully through the windscreen. He honestly didn't know.

"I think it had something to do with the other angels leaving," he guessed, "but um, when they bailed, my mojo just kind of…" He made a rapid gesture of descent, accompanied by a soft sound like a bomb falling. "…drained away."

Castiel paused for a moment, lost in reverie. Dean watched him, struggling to understand how a powerful, driven, self-righteous servant of God could have been left behind to become an aimless junkie; left to suffer and die with the rest.

"Now," Cas resumed suddenly, "you know, I'm practically human. I mean, Dean, I'm all but useless. Last year, broke my foot -" he rolled his eyes at his own frailty, " - laid up for two months."

"Wow," Dean said, because he couldn't think of anything else.

"Yeah," Cas answered similarly.

"So," Dean said, gathering up his wits to make sense of what Cas had told him, "you're human." With his wits came his sparkle. "Welcome to the club!"

Cas nodded emphatically.

"Thank you. Except I used to belong to a much better club. I'm now powerless. I'm hapless. I'm _hopeless_." His mood seemed to shift from irony to anger with every syllable. "I mean, why the hell _not_ burry myself in women and decadence, right? I mean, that's what decadence is _for_! Why not bang a few gongs before the lights go out?"

Castiel grinned wider than ever, and if Dean didn't know him better, he would have believed it was the contented face of a man who had his short mortal life worked out to perfection.

"That's just how I roll," Cas reiterated for no reason in particular as the black road rolled out ahead of them.

Dean paused for a long, thoughtful moment, and then asked, "Since when?"

Castiel shot him his confused puppy dog look - at least that hadn't changed.

"The Cas I know wouldn't even pay a woman to have sex with him. Now you're lying to a whole flock of them to get them into bed?"

Cas tilted his head. "When did I lie?"

"All that B.S. about The Doors of Perception being open as long as their legs are," Dean said, as if Cas didn't know.

Cas nodded and smiled.

"I wasn't lying to them, Dean. I was telling them a fairytale to make them feel better. In fairytales, beautiful young women like them are always rescued by beautiful young men like us, and the evil-doers burn for their sins." He shrugged off the childish fantasy. "I just wanted them to feel like there was some other world to escape to, some hope of being rescued from all of this. Would you prefer it if I told them that they're all going to die, and that demons will dance in their blood?"

"You don't know that."

"Yes I do," Cas said darkly, "and so do you. Well," he clarified, "_he_ does, anyway. The _other_ you. This war was over the second that Lucifer took Sam. We all knew it. Now we're just walking around dead, waiting for a Croat or a demon or Lucifer himself to make it official." He grinned unexpectedly. "None of us are getting out of life alive, as they say."

"So what," Dean demanded, "you just gave up? You didn't even _try_ to get Sam back?"

Castiel shook his head. "You misunderstand me, Dean. We've lost the war, but there are still a few battles we're willing to fight. Dean - the _other_ Dean - is still willing to fight for Sam, and I'm still willing to fight for _him_. Even though he knows he'll lose…" Cas stared blankly through the road. "Even though I know I'll lose him…"

Castiel smiled again, but it was weak. He turned to Dean, and Dean could see the deep pain clouding his dark eyes. "False hope is better than no hope, don't you think?"

Dean shook his head, disbelieving and disappointed. "What happened to you, man? What happened to the Cas who had blind faith?"

"I told you," Cas groaned. "Life happened."

"Newsflash, Cas! You're not the only human being on the face of the Earth! What about me and Sam, huh? What about all the crap we've gone through trying to keep this crazy rock kicking? Do you think we don't want to just give up and give in to it all sometimes?"

"Sam _did_ give in," Cas reminded him. "If he hasn't yet in your time, he soon will." Cas narrowed his eyes at the bright circles cast by the headlights in the darkness. "Then you'll know what it is to lose everything you care about, everything you believe in. Then you can judge me, Dean," he said bitterly. "And you will."

Dean closed his eyes, summoning the strength to reason with his frustrating friend. Not an easy task at the best of times, and this version of Cas was high.

"Cas, I am sorry that God screwed you over and that all your angel pals left you -"

"I'm not talking about _God_, Dean!" Cas yelled, bashing the heel of his palm on the wheel as punctuation. The car dipped a little. "I am _over_ God! I'm talking about _you_!"

Dean sat rigid in his seat, half-expecting to be burned up by white-hot angelic wrath. Then he remembered Cas was impotent and relaxed a little.

Only a little. An angry junkie was still driving the car, and Dean was still riding in the death seat.

"I'm talking about having to stand by, day after day, and watch you tear yourself apart, knowing that there's not a damn thing I can do about it!"

Cas shouted this directly at Dean, either forgetting or not caring that this was not technically _his_ Dean.

"Knowing I'm just another one of your problems!" he ploughed on. "Just another thing getting in your way!"

The car dipped again, and Dean gripped the rubber sill of the passenger-side window.

"Cas, I don't -" He changed tack. "I'm sure _he_ doesn't think that. Just calm down," he suggested nervously. "Watch the road, huh?"

Cas grit his teeth behind his lips. He managed to stabilise the car, if not his mood.

"The way you were looking at me before," Cas lamented, "like you respected me, like you needed me, like you _cared_ about what happens to me… Do you know how long it's been since _he_ looked at me like that?"

Dean shook his head.

"Two years, Dean. _Two years_!"

Castiel's chest hitched, and for an awkward moment, Dean thought that Cas was going to cry.

"When Lucifer took Sam," Castiel explained, without tears, "there was nothing I could do. That's when you began to realise how useless I really was. I couldn't help you when you needed me the most."

That hurt him to remember, Dean could tell, but Cas pressed on.

"Not long after that, I started losing my powers." Cas narrowed his eyes in spite. "Eventually I became the pathetic waste of a vessel that you saw me for."

Dean felt strangely guilty. He hadn't done any of this, but he could totally see himself doing it.

"Sounds to me like _Dean_ was just looking for someone to blame," Dean said.

"But it _was_ my fault," Cas insisted. "All of it. I kept you from Sam. I made it easy for you. I used my power to help you to forget about him - to forget that you needed each other - because I thought that's what you wanted. By the time I realised my mistake, it was too late. Sam was gone."

Dean looked down, mourning the loss of his brother, a loss he hadn't suffered yet. A loss he would not suffer, if he could help it. _If_ being the operative word.

"Okay," said Dean soberly. "So if that's true, if I - if _he_ - really does blame you, then why does he keep you around? He doesn't exactly strike me as the forgiving type."

Cas shrugged. "I guess he feels sorry for me. Maybe even a little responsible for what I've become. When the other angels left Earth, I could've gone with them, but I didn't." Castiel gazed longingly into the darkness. "I couldn't leave him."

"Jeez, Cas," Dean squirmed, turning his attention to the nothingness outside his window, "you sound like you're in love with the guy."

Castiel smiled wistfully. "I am."

Dean's head snapped back to him. "Is that like hippie humour or something? Because it's _not_ funny," he scolded.

Castiel shot him a slightly perverted grin, but the sorrow behind it told Dean that Cas wasn't joking.

Dean closed his eyes in revulsion. "Do _I_ know about this?" he asked sternly.

Cas nodded. "Oh yes. Very well. You loved me too, once." He glanced at Dean, who looked horrified, and a smug look crept over his face. "Well, _you_ still love me, Dean," Cas informed him. "I can sense that." He grinned mischievously. "As a friend, of course."

Dean was rigid and wide-eyed. "But you're not talking about 'friends', are you Cas?"

Cas' grin fell back into that wistful, distant smile again. Dean read its meaning clearly.

Dean's mind railed against the idea.

"Cas," he began sickly, "you two weren't… I mean, _we _weren't… _were_ we?"

"You were very lonely without Sam."

"Sam's my _brother_!" Dean cried, shocked by Cas' poor excuse for an explanation. "You're telling me I tried to replace him with… with _you_?" He shook his head fervently. "That makes _no_ sense, Cas. How high _are_ you? "

"I could never replace Sam," Cas admitted, lost in his memories again. "He was everything to you."

"Sam _is_ everything to me! But not like -" Dean balked. "Not like _that_! _Ugh_!"

He needed a scrubbing brush for his brain.

"And what about all the women, huh?" Dean pointed out. "My women? Your women? I am _not_ gay, Cas! And from what I've seen here, I'm pretty sure you're not either!"

Cas narrowed his eyes at him. "You really are obsessed with labels, aren't you?"

Dean glared back at him, so not in the mood for semantics.

"No, Dean," Cas rolled his eyes at Dean's primitive insecurities, "we are not _gay_. The term 'free-love' has been thrown around, but it wasn't even like that in the beginning. It wasn't about sex at all."

Dean gagged a little, but Cas ignored him.

"Being apart from Sam was very painful for you," Cas said. "I healed you of that pain, and eventually I learned to replace it with pleasure."

"Ugh, come on, Cas!" Dean pressed his fingers to his eyes, as if that would help. "I don't need the details!"

"Oh please, Dean," Cas chided. "Who do you think taught me how to live this sex, drugs, and rock and roll lifestyle? I needed you there to hold my hand." That perverted grin reappeared. "…And other parts of me."

Dean's eyes blazed with homophobic rage. "I swear to God, Cas, I will punch you in the face!"

Castiel laughed at him. "God's not here, man!" Cas recited this old bit like the faded stoner that he was.

Dean was reeling, struggling to comprehend how any of this could be happening, even in Zachariah's most twisted daydream.

"Ah," Cas sighed with satisfaction, "I've missed this. Just being able to talk to you."

"Yeah, well," Dean growled, "that's _all_ we're doing, you got it?"

"That's all I want, Dean," Cas assured him. "That's all I've wanted for a long time."

Dean's glare softened a little, and he turned back to the window. He didn't want Cas to think that he was okay with any of this - he was _not_ - but Castiel was so obviously broken that Dean found it hard to stay angry.


	3. Chapter 3

**I'll Never Look Into Your Eyes, Again**

Dean took himself aside. Castiel watched the two facets of the one soul walk away from him - his own damaged Dean, and the innocent Dean of the past. He wanted desperately to go with them.

Cas stayed behind with the other grunts, huddled against an upturned car, just outside the condemned sanitarium where the demon told Dean that Lucifer would be.

Cas waited dutifully for Dean to come back and tell him what to do.

"Tell me what's going on," Dean demanded of himself once they were alone.

"What?" Dean feigned ignorance.

"I know you," Dean said. "You're lying to these people, and to me."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. See, I know your lying expressions. I've seen them in the mirror. Now, there's something you're not telling us."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh really? Well I don't seem to be the only member of your posse with some questions so, uh, maybe I'll just take my doubts over to them."

Dean started to walk back towards said posse, but Dean held him back.

"Okay, woah, woah, woah, woah, wait."

"What?"

"Take a look around you, man. This place should be white-hot with Croats." Dean shrugged, pretending to be confused by the enemy's absence. "Where are they?"

Dean realised what he was telling himself. "They cleared a path for us. Which means that this is a -"

"Trap. Exactly."

"Well then, we can't go through the front."

"Oh, we're not," said Dean. He nodded back towards the grunts. "_They_ are."

On one side of the conversation, Dean's eyes were cold and calculating. On the other, full of passionate despair.

"They're the decoys," said the cold Dean - Cas' Dean. "You and me, we're going in through the back."

"You mean you're gonna feed your friends into a meat-grinder?" Dean didn't even want to understand this, he just hoped that hearing himself say it out-loud might make him realise how insane he sounded. "Cas too?"

Dean cast his cold eyes to the ground. The idealistic idiot in front of him didn't know anything about the world he stood in, least of all about Castiel.

"You want to use their deaths as a diversion?" his indignant self protested. "Oh man, something is _broken_ in you. You're making decisions I would never make. I would never sacrifice my friends!"

"You're right," Dean glared at himself, "_you_ wouldn't." He thought of Cas, and how he should've known better than to trust an angel. "It's one of the main reasons we're in this mess, actually."

"These people count on you!" Dean shouted at himself. "They _trust_ you!"

"They trust me to kill the Devil and save the world! And that's exactly what I'm gonna do."

"No," Dean growled, "not like this you're not. I'm not gonna let you!"

"Really?"

"Yeah!"

Dean punched himself in the face. It was profoundly satisfying.

He left his past-incarnation lying unconscious on the ground and returned to Castiel and the others.

"Alright," Dean announced, "let's move."

"Where's Dean?" Castiel asked him.

Dean knew that look; Cas was seeing right through him, better than Dean had seen through himself.

"He's going around the back to cut off the exit," Dean lied easily. "I'm going with him. You all go in through the front, flush Lucifer out. Take down as many of his freaks as you can."

"And then we'll all meet up in the middle and take the big guy down together," Castiel finished for him. "Right?"

There was no hint of betrayal in Castiel's voice, no trace of doubt on his face. It was all in his eyes. Only Dean could see it.

"Yeah," Dean confirmed for the benefit of their oblivious allies. "That's the plan."

Cas nodded submissively. "Okay."

Cas wanted to smile at Dean to let him know that he knew what was going on, and that he understood why it had to be this way, but he couldn't quite manage it.

He stood up, gripping his machine gun. "We'll see you there," he said to Dean, and began to move out with the others.

Dean watched his faithful followers trotting away to their gruesome deaths. He hesitated, and then called one of them back.

"Cas…"

Cas turned around. "Yeah, Dean?"

Dean felt five years of anguish flooding his chest; all the pain that Castiel had taken from him, one touch at a time; all the pain that had come screaming back to him a thousand times worse for having known what it was to be without it.

Castiel heard the footsteps of the posse retreating down the road. He'd have to run to catch up with them, if Dean didn't ask him to stay.

Cas waited, but Dean didn't ask. The plan was already in motion, and bringing Cas along to face Lucifer would only give Lucifer another thing to use against Dean.

Like he needed anything else.

So this was goodbye: the last time Dean would see Castiel alive, or at all.

He could've said that he still loved him. He could've said that he forgave Cas for what happened to Sam, or maybe that he never really blamed him at all.

But he would've been lying.

Dean gripped his own machine gun; the Colt that may or may not have been destined to kill Lucifer was tucked securely in his belt.

Dean raised the generic black weapon to Castiel in a half-hearted gesture of salute. "Give 'em Hell," he ordered plainly.

Castiel lifted his own gun and nodded.

Cas took one last, longing look at Dean, and then jogged off into the fray.

Dean stared after him for a few indulgent seconds.

Dean turned around, drew the Colt, and began the hunt for Lucifer.

He found the Devil in the courtyard, literally stopping to smell the roses. Screams and howls and semi-automatic gunfire tore up the luscious green tranquility of Lucifer's haven.

The distraction was in effect. The Devil's lackeys were busy.

Lucifer's back was to him, and Dean had a clear shot.

Sam's massive shoulders hunched with child-like curiosity over the bright red flowers. Sam's body was dressed all in white, creating an unnerving tower of contrast to the dullness of the gathering storm. He looked like a virginal groom on his wedding day, mocking the purity that the corrupted angel inside him must once have had.

Dean raised the Colt, roughly level with his brother's spine.

He couldn't pull the trigger.

Dean shuddered - had he come all this way just to choke?

No, he wasn't choking. He couldn't move. Something was seizing the muscles in his outstretched arm and hand, foiling the simplest and most crucial part of his plan.

"It's rude to point, Dean," Sam's sweet voice floated to him across the garden.

Lucifer turned and raised a disapproving eyebrow at the barrel of the Colt.

"_Monkeys_ point."

Lucifer waved a hand, effortlessly lowering Dean's arm to his side. Dean's hand spasmed and dropped the Colt to the grass.

Dean shuddered again; whether this was a result of his futile attempts to move, or a symptom of stomach-churning fear, he didn't know.

Lucifer smiled and walked towards him.

Dean wanted to run, and fight, and scream, and cry. He wanted to rip the demon out of Sam's body with his bare hands. Lucifer saw it all and Sam's bright eyes flashed with amusement.

"So," Lucifer observed, "you found me. Well done. But you know," he told Dean gently, "I would've come to you. All you had to do was ask."

"And miss out on all the fun of torturing and killing your closest allies?" Dean attempted a shaky taunt. "No thanks."

Lucifer smiled warmly, as if Dean had paid him a great compliment.

"Dean…" Lucifer splayed his fingers between the open lapels of his white suit. "You couldn't lay a hand on my closest ally."

Lucifer closed Sam's eyes, pledging his appreciation and devotion to the warm body beneath the cold cotton shirt.

Lucifer then looked at Dean curiously. "Would you like to speak to him?"

"Sammy…"

The desperate breath was out of Dean's mouth before he could catch it.

"He's still in here," Lucifer assured him. "He's confused about why _you're_ here, though." The corner of Sam's lips curled. "He doesn't believe that you've come to die."

Dean tried to keep up his defiant façade, but he knew it was pointless. Cas had seen through him, Dean had seen through himself, and now Lucifer saw that he wanted this over, too. The only person still in the dark was Sam.

The eyes regarding Dean closed. When they opened again, there was a distinct spark of humanity.

"Sam…?"

Sam rocked on his feet, breathing heavily, like he'd been pushed forward without warning. He stared up at his big brother. "Dean…?"

"Sammy…?" Dean recognised his little brother immediately, but he was too afraid to believe that Sam was really there.

"Dean…" Sam composed himself, grasping the situation: he wasn't free, Lucifer was just giving him a moment to talk.

"What are you -" Sam broke off, huffing angrily. "Why are you _here_, Dean?"

Tears welled in Dean's eyes. He couldn't help it. "I came to see you."

Sam was unmoved. "Why? Why now?"

Dean couldn't answer.

"Where were you when I needed you?" Sam shouted.

"Sammy," Dean shivered, "I'm sorry. I was - "

"You were with _Cas_!" Sam accused him bitterly. "You let him turn you against me!"

"No…"

"You were my _brother_, Dean!" Sam's face twisted with rage and betrayal. "You were supposed to love _me_! You were supposed to _protect_ me!"

"Sammy, I tried…" A tear rolled down his face.

"You _left_ me, Dean! You left me for _him_! You left me to _Lucifer_!"

"I didn't mean to! Cas - " Dean shook his head, hoping to shake loose an explanation. "He confused me! He got in my head!"

"Yeah," Sam glared at him, "and you let him. Because it was easier that way, wasn't it? No more demonic little brother to worry about."

"It wasn't like that!" Dean growled.

"Then what was it like, Dean?"

Dean breathed rapidly, angry at himself, and at Sam for not understanding.

"Do you really wanna know?" Dean demanded.

"Yeah, I really wanna know!" Sam returned.

"Fine!" Dean shouted. "Here it is!" He closed his eyes for composure, or maybe just so he didn't have to look at Sam while he said it. "Staying away from you was _killing_ me, Sam! Alright? It was _killing_ me! If it wasn't for Cas - if it wasn't for what he did to me - I would've come back to you." He stared into Sam's eyes now so that Sam could see that he meant it. "I would've said yes to Michael if it meant that I could save you. I would have let the world burn, and I wouldn't have cared, because I would've been with you."

Dean's voice broke with tears, and he had to stop and swallow them back.

"You're my brother, Sam," he said when he was able. He shrugged, as if letting the world burn was no big thing compared to that. "You jump, I jump."

Sam thought the words over carefully, and nodded.

"That's nice of you to say, Dean," Sam said, unconvinced, "but I jumped. And I did it alone. Where were you?"

Dean's eyes pleaded with him, though his voice remained level. "I'm here now."

"It's too late."

"I know," Dean said. "I know I can't change anything. I just needed you to know…" He paused, gazing up at his brother's resigned face. "I'm sorry, Sammy… I am _so_ sorry."

Dean waited for Sam to say something. Anything.

"Okay," Sam said.

"Okay?" Dean had been hoping for a little more.

Sam gave him a respectful nod. "I understand. You thought you were doing what was best."

The pain in Dean's chest, the fear in his stomach, the guilt and sorrow in his mind, all swirled together in a sickening crescendo… and then dissipated.

"Yes," he sighed gratefully.

Sam regarded his brother with sympathy. He stepped towards him and laid a hand on the side of Dean's face. Dean closed his eyes and wept silently as he felt Sam's hand tenderly caress his neck, and then settle just above his shoulder.

"I forgive you, Dean."

Dean's tears flowed freely. There was no need to hide them now.

"But there's something I need _you_ to know," Sam's sweet voice revealed.

Dean felt a sharp pain in his neck. He opened his eyes, expecting to see Lucifer smiling down at him, laughing at him for having fallen for the trick. But those eyes were still Sammy's; that vengeful expression was still his.

Dean's legs buckled under Sam's touch, and he fell to his knees. He looked up in hurt confusion, as if he wasn't getting exactly what he came for.

"I never had the _choice_ to stop loving you," Sam sneered down at him.

Dean fell listlessly forward. His head collided with the grass. His body was numb from the neck down, paralysed by Lucifer's power and Sam's spite.

"_Especially_ when it was killing me."

The Colt laid less than two feet away from him, directly in his line of sight. Dean had no hope of reaching it.

The executioner - Sam or Lucifer, Dean wasn't sure which - walked around the victim to see his stricken eyes. There was something like pity on the soft face looming above Dean, but not enough to spare him.

A shoe was placed on Dean's neck. Dean felt the blood rising in his face, unable to circulate back down through his jugular. The last reserve of oxygen was being crushed from his trachea; dean could hear it collapsing under his brother's weight, making little popping sounds.

Dean stared out past the Colt, his vision going dark. The last thing he saw was himself, watching his own death at his brother's feet. Dean looked terrified and alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**The End Of Laughter And Soft Lies**

_2009_

Dean woke up in his hotel room in Kansas City. The sun hadn't dawned. The room was dark, or as dark as a hotel room in the middle of a city can get. He sensed someone standing at the end of his bed.

Dean sat up. The shadowy figure, silhouetted against the pale streetlight that seeped in through the curtains, was definitely wearing a trench coat.

"Cas…" Dean murmured, half-asleep.

"We had an appointment," Castiel reminded him.

Dean nodded, resigned to his forced insomnia.

"Yeah, right."

Dean swung his legs out of bed. He was fully clothed. He had been anticipating this interruption. After getting a call from Sam just after 4am, he didn't think he'd get back to sleep at all, but he did, for all the good it had done.

"Something about the Colt?" he asked Cas.

"Yes. I have a lead."

Dean put his elbows on his knees and put his face in his hands.

Castiel watched him curiously. "Is something wrong?" He noticed the way that Dean kept rubbing his eyes. "You said you needed four hours."

Dean had said that at about 1.30AM.

"Have I come too early?"

"Yes, frankly," Dean said, "but it's not that." He was too tired to sugarcoat it. "I spoke to Sam earlier. Apparently Sam is Lucifer's vessel."

Castiel turned away from him. "Yes. I know."

"Oh, you know?" Dean couldn't muster any surprise, just indignation. "And you didn't think it was relevant to share?"

"I was concerned about how you would take the information." Castiel hastened to add, "Particularly coming from me."

"What does that mean?"

"I've told you before that Sam has a great potential for evil. You haven't been very receptive."

"Right," Dean thought out-loud, "the demon blood. I guess all of that makes a lot more sense now, huh?"

Castiel nodded solemnly.

Dean was at a loss. "Why are they doing this to us, Cas? I mean, what did we ever do?"

"You started the apocalypse."

"It was a rhetorical question," Dean glared.

"But you _did_ start it, Dean, and they want you to finish it. You and Sam, together."

"Yeah, well," Dean muttered, "that's not gonna happen."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because me and Sam…" Dean took a deep breath. "We're not gonna _be_ together. I told him to stay away from me, just until we can get this whole end-of-the-world mess sorted out. Shouldn't take long."

Castiel assessed Dean's body language: the way Dean sat slightly forward on the edge of the bed; the way he rubbed the knuckles of one hand under the palm of the other; the way his eyes were focused on nothing in particular.

"He's your brother," Castiel said. "Do you really think you can stay away from him?"

The anxious tic in Dean's hands became more defined. He didn't speak.

"The angels won't give up," Castiel warned him. "_Lucifer_ won't give up. You could be fighting them for the rest of your lives. Can you stay away from Sam for the rest of your life?"

"It won't be for the rest of my life," Dean answered petulantly. "Just for the rest of _Lucifer's_ life. Once I get the Colt - "

"We don't know that the Colt can kill Lucifer."

"Well I have to try!" Dean stood up to stare Castiel down. "There's no way I'm gonna let that jumped-up demon take my little brother!" He reconsidered the plausibility of that promise. "But if I can't stop it, then at least I know that son of a bitch isn't getting away with it."

Castiel regarded him patiently - _irritatingly_, in Dean's opinion.

Dean sighed and relinquished his intimidation attempt. He sat back down on the bed, and replaced his head in his hands.

"You didn't answer my question, Dean," Castiel prodded. "Do you really think you can stay away from Sam?"

"If I have to," Dean growled. He did not sound convinced of his own will-power.

Dean's anxiety had crossed the border into anger. His anger was teetering on the precipice of self-hatred. How could he even _think_ of abandoning Sam? But how could he not, when the survival of the whole planet was at stake? A better man would have found a better solution, but Dean just wasn't that guy.

Dean was deep in his own spiraling thoughts, not really paying attention, when Cas moved towards him.

"Okay," Cas said.

Castiel laid the tips of his fingers against Dean's temple. Dean squinted at him sideways, wondering if the angel had gone crazy.

Before he could ask what Cas was doing, Dean felt it - sunshine, and oxygen, and warm water, and ecstasy - all flowing into his mind. He closed his eyes, spontaneously experiencing it all. Every other thought died away.

Castiel slid his fingers away through Dean's hair, gently releasing Dean from his power. Dean's eyes opened, wide with awe and gratification; they gleamed with Cas' fading light.

Castiel placed an ordinary hand on Dean's shoulder, holding him steady like a sobering friend. "Then I'll help you," he said, and Dean believed completely that he would.

_2010_

The colour of Dean's eyes must have had a name, but Castiel didn't know what it was. Green? Grey? Hazel? Gold? That colour reminded him of trees in a storm, twisting and writhing with abandon, boughs threatening to break.

Castiel's eyes were the ocean; serene blue waters running dark and deep; slow-moving vortices to another world that no mere human could ever hope to reach, let alone escape from.

But Dean tried anyway.

He dived into Castiel, swam in him, rolled effortlessly in his undulating tides. He dived deeper still, faster, further. The pressure down there threatened to crush him; the oxygen was draining from his blood. He was drowning, but he didn't want to come up for air. Not yet.

Castiel watched him closely, waiting for Dean to give into the pressure, to thrash his way back to the surface and break through it. Cas waited patiently to take Dean by the hand and pull him back into the light.

"_Cas_…" Dean whispered his name like a prayer. "_Cas_… _Cas_… _Cas_…"

Castiel ran his fingers through Dean's sweat-damp hair. He let them rest against Dean's temple as Dean chanted his weak, desperate plea to be saved.

He was ready. Castiel obliged.

The angel's light filled Dean's soul. Breath rushed into Dean's lungs - fresh, cool, and life-giving - like the first he'd ever tasted.

There was no apocalypse. There was no Lucifer. There was no God. No angels, except for the one enveloping him. There was no world to be defended or destroyed. There was no Sam, for better or worse. There was only Cas.

Cas was a pure wave of warmth and light and energy - a glorious beacon of perfect peace. Dean only acknowledged his own existence because Cas believed he was there; Cas was touching him, loving him, so he must have been true.

Dean shivered and collapsed into Cas, barely able to keep breathing, barely aware of the need to.

Castiel exhaled slowly and deeply beneath him - a reserved, angelic response to the concept of mortal pleasure.

Castiel's pleasure came from Dean; knowing he could heal Dean of any pain, physical or spiritual; knowing he was all that Dean needed, and all that he wanted.

He held Dean against his chest, listening to the fragile human heart beating hard and fast. Dean moaned and murmured into Cas' shoulder, too exhausted for words.

"Cas…" the angel heard his name again, another desperate prayer.

Castiel glanced at Dean's sleepy, oblivious face. Dean's lips weren't moving, only humming with content.

"Castiel…" the familiar voice called softly to him again. "_Please_…"

Castiel listened and recognised. It was Sam.

Sam paced around his hotel room. The curtains were heavy and drawn. He hugged himself with one hand and chewed at the nails on the other. His hair was longer than it had been the last time Castiel saw him. It hung over his eyes, tangled lightly in places.

Sam's troubled gaze flicked up from his own feet and landed on the angel's passive face. Sam stopped dead.

"Cas…? Is it really you?"

"Yes."

Sam cried out, almost whimpering. "Oh _thank_ you!" He rushed to Castiel, stooping to bury his face in the shoulder of the angel's trench coat. Sam imagined that he could smell Dean there. "Thank _God_!"

Castiel endured it, but did not reciprocate. When the other man was done, he asked, "What do you want, Sam?"

Sam stared at him, shocked by the question. "I want your _help_!" he cried frantically. "I want _Dean_!"

Castiel felt a twinge of possessive jealousy. He told himself it was only concern for the negative influence that Lucifer's vessel could have on his charge.

"Dean doesn't want to see you."

"I don't care what he wants!" Sam shouted. "I _need_ him! Lucifer keeps getting in my head - making me see things…" Sam pulled his fingers through his hair. "Making me think things…" He looked up at Cas, which was hard to do, since Cas was so much shorter than him. "I don't know how much longer I can keep him out, Cas." Sam's eyes were shining with tears in the dark. "Please, I can't do this by myself! Please, just take me to Dean! Just for a minute? _Please_!"

Castiel turned away.

"You're weak, Sam. You're tainted by evil. Dean should not be around you, and neither should I."

Sam cried without the filter of self-respect. He brought his shameless sobbing under control, just long enough to implore Castiel one more time.

"Cas… I'm begging you…"

He fell to his knees at the angel's feet.

"I am _begging_ you! _Please_! Don't leave me here alone…"

Castiel looked down on him without pity.

"Don't call me again, Sam."

Sam whimpered in disbelief as his last hope for salvation disappeared in a disembodied flutter. He curled up on his side and continued sobbing.

_2011_

Castiel stood outside the motel door. He could have just appeared inside the room, but that wouldn't have given him time to prepare.

He took a deep, unnecessary breath, placed his hand on the doorknob, and turned. The door had been locked, but he didn't need a key to open it. Dean said he would've just lost it anyway.

Dean was waiting for him, as Castiel knew he would be.

"Oh, Cas! Great, you're here!"

Cas did not share his enthusiasm. He avoided Dean's eyes as he pulled the door closed behind him. He relocked it. Locking doors still seemed foreign to him, but they couldn't be too careful. Especially now.

"I rented a DVD from the guy at the front desk," Dean announced, holding it up. "Well, _under_ the front desk," he amended coyly. "It's called '_Easy A. S. S._'"

Dean shot Cas a perverted grin and read off the back:

"'_A curious young virgin learns how to use her slammin' hot bod to climb the social and sexual ladder of high school.'_"

Dean shrugged. "It's a little more plot than I'd like, but the girl on the cover - " He flipped it over to leer at a buxom young blonde in an impractically short school uniform. _"Mmm_! I swear Cas, if you weren't so good at what you do…"

"Dean…"

"Aw, come on, Cas," Dean misinterpreted the hurt look on his partner's face. "You know you're the only _slammin' hot bod _for me." Dean set the DVD down by the TV to prove that that girl meant _nothing_ to him. He smiled at Cas and hugged him around the shoulders. Castiel wouldn't look at him, so Dean kissed the side of his head.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked. "You seem a little tense." He rubbed Cas' shoulders - not enough to have any real impact. "Why don't I put the movie on? Clear that right up!" Dean trotted cheerily back to the TV and crouched down in front of it to load the DVD into the machine.

"Dean, stop."

"What?" Dean held the de-cased disk in his hand. "If you don't like this, I can see if he's got something dirtier."

The grin Dean was giving him now usually would have made Cas excited. It would have made him laugh, at the very least. It did neither.

"Dean, just listen to me." Castiel closed his eyes. "It's Sam. Sam is…"

Dean waited impatiently, his hand poised to drop the DVD in the machine.

"Dean…" Castiel exhaled heavily. "Sam said yes. Sam said _yes_ to Lucifer."

Dean put the DVD down on top of the machine. He stood up thoughtfully.

"Oh…" he said. "Wow."

Cas waited for Dean to rage at him, to demand to know how this could've happened - how Cas could've _let_ it happen… but all Dean did was shrug.

"Well," Dean said, "I guess there was always a chance of that happening. I mean why else have we been keeping our distance from him, right?"

He picked up the DVD again and dropped it into the machine.

"So, are we watching the movie?"

Cas stared at him.

"Dean, do you understand what I just said? Sam is _gone_. Lucifer _has_ him."

"Yeah," Dean answered, picking up the DVD remote, "I know. But what do you want me to do about it? We still haven't found the Colt. At least now when we do, we'll know which meat-suit to aim it at." He tipped the remote towards Cas and winked before throwing himself onto the bed. He patted the covers beside him, inviting Cas to join him.

Castiel stood by the door, trying to determine what was wrong with Dean. He considered that Dean may have been putting on a brave face, but he didn't think so. When he searched Dean's soul, he found no concern there at all. It was like Dean honestly didn't care what happened to Sam.

Then Castiel remembered that he'd spent the past two years making _sure_ that Dean didn't care.

Cas felt cold and sick. Dean's passive, lustful smile made that feeling a thousand times worse.

_2012_

The world was going to Hell. Lucifer was risen. The demons were on the rampage. The angels were losing ground, and more than a few of them had given up altogether.

The Horsemen were riding. Death was tearing up the planet with 'natural' disasters. War was inciting the survivors to kill each other over the dwindling resources. Famine and Pestilence followed in turn.

Cas didn't read the papers anymore. The last article he'd bothered with said something about a 'new strain of blood-borne virus that renders its victims murderously violent.' It was spreading rapidly through densely populated areas. There was no known cure.

He tuned out the TV news whenever Dean insisted on watching it. Most of all, Castiel tuned out the voices in his head, the ones that kept asking for his help.

Cas was in no condition to help anyone.

He bent over the bong on the table and put his lips to the mouthpiece. He lit the small deposit of dry grass on the opposite side, and inhaled. He leaned back in the hard wooden chair and exhaled pale-grey smoke at the ceiling.

The sound of the room-key in the door should've drawn his attention, but it didn't. Cas was busy watching the marijuana cloud settle down over his head when Dean walked in and caught him.

Dean flinched away from the acrid atmosphere that wafted out of the tiny room.

"Oh, jeez, Cas…" Dean rolled his eyes. "What've I told you about smoking that crap inside?"

"Dean…" Cas watched the last wisps of smoke disappear against the cracked plaster overhead. "I didn't think you'd be back for hours."

"That's not the point! That smell gets into everything!" He slammed the door, locking it automatically behind him. "We're not getting our cleaning deposit back," Dean glared. "What have you done all day anyway? Find any leads on the Colt at the bottom of your bong?"

Castiel laughed quietly to himself.

There was a noise in the bathroom. Cas seemed not to notice.

Dean drew his gun from the back of his belt and aimed it at the bathroom door.

"Cas, baby - " A woman walked out in a low cloud of steam, dressed in a clingy black dress. She was drying her dark hair with a towel. Her hair was flipped over her pouting face; she hadn't seen Dean or his gun. " - I used up the last of the little shampoos," she told Cas. "I hope that's - "

The words died on her luscious red lips. Her dark brown eyes, framed with iridescent pastels, were drawn to the glinting gun. She gasped and dropped the towel on the floor.

Dean rolled his eyes and put the gun away. Cas giggled again, quite removed from the potential seriousness of the situation.

"Um, hi," the woman smiled sheepishly at the man with the gun, apparently convinced that he wasn't about to shoot her. "You must be Dean."

"_Must_ I?"

"Sure." Her smile turned wolfish as she stalked sinuously towards him. "Cas told me all about you." She touched Dean's chest without invitation. "What you like…" She ran her hand down his hard abdomen and trailed her long red fingernails over the soft leather of his belt. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"I'm Kandi," she said. Dean could sense the terrible spelling. She flitted her mascara-laden eyelashes at him. "Did you want to join us?"

Dean ignored her efforts and turned to Cas.

"Kandi?" He repeated. "Really?"

Cas was trying not to howl with laughter. Dean didn't see anything funny, and his stony face said so.

"Oh Kandi, honey," Cas warned his lady-friend, "I think you better leave before my boyfriend gets mad."

Kandi waited for Dean to answer her generous offer, but he turned that stony face on her. She bit her lip to stifle her own professional desires and moved away from him. She'd seen his gun. She didn't need to be told twice.

"Cash is on the nightstand, babe." Cas pointed her towards one of the twin beds. Kandi followed his directions and collected her payment. She picked up her purse and shoes from beside Cas' disheveled bed and carried them towards the door. Dean still barred the way and she batted her eyelashes again by way of a password. Dean unlocked the door and opened it for her, his chivalry not extending to a parting word. Kandi waved to Cas as she walked out the door. Cas waved back, smiling broadly.

Dean glared at him more fiercely and closed the door. He locked it again, pointedly.

"What the hell was that?" Dean asked.

"_That,_" Castiel said, intoxicated, "was _Kandi_."

"What did you tell her?"

"That I was an angel of the Lord," Cas boasted, "and that I could fly her to Heaven."

"Good," Dean mocked him. "So she just thinks you're a crazy-ass stoner."

Cas grinned. "You know it."

Dean's disgust was palpable. The bong, the prostitute, the six or seven beer bottles that were scattered on the little circular table that Cas was sitting at. Dean thought that one or two of those empty bottles might've been Kandi's work, but he guessed he'd find that out when he eventually had to clean up Cas' mess. There were bound to be lipstick marks somewhere.

Cas tilted his head to one side, curious as to whether Dean was really as mad as he looked. Maybe, Cas thought, he could help Dean to calm down.

"But I think…" Castiel stood up slowly, making an effort to stay steady as he did it. He leered at Dean. "…I got her halfway there."

He walked forward with relative surety. He hadn't stood up for a good half-hour, and he'd been hitting the bong pretty hard during that time.

"Only halfway?" Dean teased him cruelly. "You're losing your touch."

"Well…" Cas stopped too close to be respecting Dean's personal space, but not yet close enough to be intimate. "I didn't want to waste all my juice before you got back."

Cas swayed a little on his feet as he reached out to touch the side of Dean's face. Dean grabbed his forearm. Cas rocked back in slow surprise. Dean caught him by the shoulder and kept a hold on his other arm.

Castiel steadied himself in Dean's hands. He waited for Dean to let him go. Dean did.

Dean closed his eyes, frustrated at his own weakness, and allowed Cas to touch him. The light and warmth entered his mind in a shimmering instant, but the peace was lacking. The peace had been lacking for some time. The ecstasy was gone completely.

Cas' touch had literally been Dean's Heaven - what Cas had told Kandi would not have been a lie a year ago - but now the sensation was more like sunshine breaking through a cloud. It was pleasant enough, and sometimes refreshing, but that was all. There was no real relief from misery and pain; the thought of another cloud rolling over the sun remained, even in the brightest moments.

It was over quickly.

Cas wanted to apologise, but he couldn't find the words. He had so much to apologise for.

He tried to kiss Dean.

Dean shied away; he wasn't interested. He pushed past Castiel, barely making contact.

"I need a shower," Dean said. He headed for the bathroom and picked up Kandi's discarded towel on his way. "I hope your whore didn't use up all the hot water, too."

_2013_

Dean struggled to make an effective entrance through Castiel's curtain of love beads, or whatever the hell he was getting tangled up in. It did not help, of course, that he was carrying Cas in his arms like a screaming, thrashing child.

"OW!" Cas hollered as Dean bumped his bandaged foot against the cabin doorway. Well, they were calling it a bandage, but for a field injury, Cas' sock tied tightly around the effected area had to do.

"OW!" Cas repeated at volume. "OH, THIS IS THE WORST PAIN THAT ANYONE HAS EVER BEEN IN!"

"Shut up, Cas!" Dean couldn't believe he was dignifying that with a response, but Cas had apparently never felt this kind of mortality before, and it was clearly freaking him out. "You're fine!"

Dean had made it through the curtain and over the plush rug. He thought he only kicked over two unlit candles along the way, so that was good. The goal was Cas' king-size bed - much too big for one ex-angel, but Cas didn't spend a lot of time alone in it these days. He had a whole flock of misguided groupies to tend to his heavenly needs.

Dean never wanted to see this room under a UV light.

He dropped Cas onto the bed as gently as he could, which wasn't very gentle at all. He'd been carrying Cas for about half a mile all-up - through the war zone to the car, and from the car back to here. He was tired, damn it. His arms simply gave out at the last.

Cas screamed again.

Dean knelt beside the bed to look Cas over. "Stop being such a baby!" he scolded.

Dean untied the 'bandage,' exposing a swollen, misshapen lump of inflamed flesh where the Croat had stomped Cas' foot when he was down.

Dean prodded the area to assess the damage. A nest of little bones grinded together under his fingertips. Castiel roared his disapproval through grit teeth. He grabbed Dean's shirt and yanked him forward.

"_Morphine_!" Cas snarled into Dean's face. "I need _morphine_!"

Dean narrowed his eyes. If anyone else asked for morphine with the injury that he suspected Cas had, Dean wouldn't think twice. But Cas was a drug-addict.

Dean had a pretty good idea that Cas had some morphine pills squirreled away in his private stash, the rest of the camp be damned. He opened a chest of draws near Cas' bed. Third draw down, he was met with a carpet of pill bottles and plastic baggies. Dean ignored the green herbs and white powders. He read through an assortment of uppers and downers until he found what he was looking for.

He popped the cap off the bottle and handed it grudgingly to Cas. Cas swept the bottle up to his mouth and swallowed a tongueful of pills. He moaned appreciatively, already riding a wave of placebo-effect.

Dean snatched the bottle back from him, screwed the cap on roughly, and threw the rattling bottle across the floor.

"What's the matter with you?" Cas snapped. "I'm the one who's been freakin' _hobbled_!"

Dean scowled at Castiel's selfish stupidity. "You shouldn't have been out there," he lectured. "You almost got yourself killed. You almost got _me_ killed!"

"We're in a _war_, Dean," Cas defended himself. "I got injured. It happens."

"It happens a lot more easily when you're too stoned to notice what's going on around you."

They'd been dancing around _that_ subject for quite a while. Cas didn't feel much like dancing now that he was maimed.

"If I'm such a disappointment to you," Cas spat, "why didn't you just leave me there to die?"

"Oh you'd like that, wouldn't you? Taking the easy way out?"

"What's so easy about it? I don't even know if I _can_ die! I'm clearly not an angel anymore," he threw an accusatory glance at his mortal wound, "but I'm not exactly _human_ either. So where does that leave me?"

"Right here, being a pain in my ass," Dean muttered.

Castiel stopped to think about it.

"If I died, what would even happen? Would I go back to Heaven? Or would I just…" His face slackened in distant contemplation. "…stop?"

"Okay," Dean said, "well, I see the morphine's kicking in." He stood up. "I'll leave you to it."

Dean headed towards the love-beads over the exit.

"Dean?"

"What?"

Cas breathed deeply and slowly. The physical pain was bearable now, but the emotional…

"I stayed for you," Cas said. "You do know that, don't you?"

Cas' eyes were red and lined with tears. Dean told himself it was a side-effect of the broken bones, or maybe even the drugs.

"I stayed for you."

Dean paused and looked at the floor.

"Yeah, Cas. I know."

He looked back up at Cas - a pitiful, broken thing that was utterly dependant on him for any semblance of survival.

"I'll send someone to check back on you in an hour or so," Dean said. "Don't try to walk on that foot. I'm pretty sure it's broken."

Dean walked out of the cabin, brushing the love-beads aside. Cas watched them swirling helplessly in Dean's absence.

He closed his eyes and bit back the pain.


	5. Chapter 5

**The End Of Nights We Tried To Die**

Dean woke up on the ground. The Colt laid in front of him in the grass.

Thunder cracked the silence and reminded him where he was.

Dean's arm darted out for the Colt - Lucifer had made the mistake of releasing him from his paralyzing grip. Dean rolled over on his back and pointed the Colt up at Lucifer's smug, self-righteous face… but there was only sky.

Dean sat up and looked around. Lucifer was gone. His past-self was gone. There were no sounds of his own people fighting the Croats inside the building; that battle was long over. Out here in the courtyard there was no sign of movement, except for the wind in the rose bushes. Rain was starting to fall.

He tried to figure out what had happened, how he was still alive. Had Sam done something to save him? Dean didn't think so. Sam - what was left of Sam - wasn't the same person anymore. Dean realised he had no-one to blame for that but himself.

He looked down to his right. There was a body beside him. It took Dean a confusing moment to realise who it was.

"Cas!"

Dean crawled over to him. Cas wasn't moving and his eyes were closed. There was blood running from his nose.

"_Castiel_!"

Dean tried shaking him. Cas didn't respond.

Dean put his ear to Cas' chest, searching for the sound of respiration. It was weak but it was there. He put his fingers against Cas' neck and found an erratic pulse.

Dean took another look around. The coast seemed to be clear, but there was no way in Hell it was going to stay that way for long.

He gathered Castiel up in his arms, still not understanding how he had the sudden ability to do it. A few moments ago, Dean thought he would never move again.

He hugged Cas to his chest and remembered that last time he'd carried him out of harm's way like this, how Cas had made it so exhausting, screaming and squirming about. Dean would've given anything for Cas to wake up and start doing that now.

Cas did wake up a few hours later in his own warm bed. He had the mother of all headaches, and the rest of his body ached too. He tried to move and found that he couldn't; not very much and not without causing himself more pain, anyway. He moaned.

"Cas?"

Dean was keeping a bedside vigil.

"Dean…" Castiel smiled dreamily at him. "You're alive."

"Yeah," Dean confirmed. "I'm not quite sure how that happened, actually. One minute Lucifer is using my neck to wipe his shoe, and the next…" He gave Cas a suspicious and not-entirely-pleased look. "What happened Cas? What did you do?"

"I brought you back," Cas said proudly. "I guess I'm not so useless after all."

Dean nodded: he had to agree with that.

"How?" Dean asked.

Cas attempted a small shrug. "Lucifer and Zachariah," he deduced, "in the same place, almost at the same time. They left traces of powerful energy on the ground. I could feel it." His smile broadened. "It was enough to make me _me_ again, Dean, just for a moment. Just enough to…"

He closed his eyes and sighed blissfully.

Dean did not share his emotion.

"Zach was there?"

Cas nodded. "After Lucifer left, he showed up and took the other Dean away, back to his own time, I guess. Then it was just you and me."

"What about the Croats?' Dean interrogated him. "How did you get away?"

Cas let out a weak little laugh. "Uh, I ran?"

"You ran?" Dean didn't know why that should surprise him.

"Yes." Cas supposed he should've been ashamed of himself for ignoring Dean's orders and leaving the others to die pointlessly without him, but he wasn't. "I know you had a different plan for me, Dean, but I've never really been one for sticking to the plan." His smile turned plaintive and his dark blue eyes sparkled seriously. "I was prepared to die for you… but not _without_ you."

Dean decided that was fair. "You came back to find me?"

"Lucky I did, huh?"

Dean looked down at the floor. This worried Cas.

"It _was_ lucky," he asked Dean, "wasn't it? I did do the right thing?"

Dean hesitated.

"You did what you thought was best, Cas," he said sympathetically. "That's all you've ever done."

"Right," Cas said, noticing that Dean hadn't exactly said 'yes.' "Always the best intentions…"

Dean watched him for a moment, just thinking about everything Cas had done to him… for him… thinking about how Cas had never meant to hurt him. Dean had always known it, but he hadn't always cared. Now he did.

Sam had forced Dean to face up to the truth: it wasn't all Cas' fault. Cas only ever did what Dean had wanted him to do.

Dean acknowledge that Cas was sorry, and forgave him for whatever part he'd played. Cas sensed it with deep gratitude. Cas also sensed that _Dean_ was sorry.

Dean was sorry to Sam for having forced him out of his life, and sorry to Cas for having blamed him for it all these years.

Dean was still a little too sorry for _himself_, though, to admit any of this to Cas out-loud.

Cas didn't mind. He knew how to read Dean, and he didn't need borrowed angel powers to do it.

"So," Dean tried to salvage his dignity after all this touchy-feely mind-melding crap, "Zachariah took me back for a do-over. Do you think I'll say yes?"

Cas shrugged. "I honestly don't know. But if you do… if the past changes at all…" Cas' face was serene, but his eyes were sad and ominous. "…all of this may never happen. We may cease to exist."

Cas grinned suddenly. "Maybe we should have last-night-on-Earth sex again, huh?"

Dean smiled at him. Cas couldn't remember the last time that had happened. "I think you'd be better off just sitting here quietly," Dean said.

Cas, unfortunately, had to agree. Reviving Dean had taken a lot of power, power that Cas was no-longer used to wielding. It had wiped him out on the spot, and now his fragile human vessel was protesting about it loudly.

Cas shuffled his hand across the mattress towards Dean.

"Will you sit with me?" Castiel asked.

Dean slipped his hand into Cas'.

Dean slipped his hand into Cas'. He lifted the back of Cas' hand to his lips and kissed it in answer.

**~THE END~**


End file.
